


But It is Lightning That Does All the Work

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Buried Alive, Established Relationship, M/M, Some Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: Jim has been missing for almost two days now, and Artemus is beyond worried. His search leads him to Small-Hope, Oklahoma, where he desperately hopes to find his partner. He doesn't know what happened, and he doesn't yet the exact depths of Dr. Loveless' cruelty.





	But It is Lightning That Does All the Work

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Jim is buried alive, complete with instances of claustrophobia, blood, and some bodily fluid; also features some supernatural elements but it's not overpowering nor the point of the story

Artemus is tired by the time he reaches the undertaker’s residence. It’s been a few days since Jim disappeared ( _two days, thirteen hours, forty-seven- no… best not dwell_ ) and his best lead is a little nowhere town in Oklahoma called Small-Hope _And it feels like I have only a small hope of finding Jim here._ So far, he’s gone to what feels like everyone in town, from the sheriff to the town drunk, and no one’s seen him. One woman finally directed him to the town’s undertaker and caretaker of their small cemetery. That certainly doesn’t get Artemus’ hopes up, but it’s his only lead.

There’s a young woman on the porch, the house outside the town on the border of the burial ground. She’s blonde and pretty, looks somewhat muscular but not heavily so, looks like a frontier woman, her clothes plain but well made.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“I hope so. I’m looking for someone.”

“Comin’ to the undertaker’s, you may not like what ya find.”

“Well, first I’m looking for the undertaker.”

“Ya found her. I’m Mercy Stuart.”

He pushes down his surprise, doesn’t want to agitate his last hope for finding Jim, says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stuart. My name is Artemus Gordon. I’m hoping you can help me find someone.”

“Come on inside, Mr. Gordon. I usually find people comin’ here lookin’ for someone need to sit down, either from relief or grief,” she says, “Can I get ya anything?”

“Only some information. Miss Stuart, I was told you may know the whereabouts of my friend, Mr. James West. No one in town seems to have seen him, but Small-Hope is the only place I’ve been able to track him to,” he explains.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gordon. We buried a man by that name yesterday.”

Artemus feels his stomach roll violently, forces it down, asks desperately, “That only means you buried a man of the same name. Here, I have a photograph of him. Is that the same man?”

He hands it to her, itches to have it back immediately. It’s one of his favorite possessions. He and Jim sat for the portrait in Washington with Matthew Brady himself as the photographer. To her credit, Miss Stuart holds it gently, almost reverently. _She’s in the right profession._ Her eyes flicker over the photograph. _Please…_

“As I said, Mr. Gordon,” she answers, handing back the photo, “I’m sorry.”

Artemus chokes down a sob, tears filling his eyes, his lip wobbling. Miss Stuart reaches out and takes his hand, says, “Tell me how I can help you.”

“I-… I don’t know… I don’t-… How did it happen?” he stammers.

“That I can’t say for sure. The folks that brought him said he died while they were traveling. One of ‘em said he was doctor… and he pronounced him dead. I was the first undertaker they found, so me and Aphrah buried him. Didn’t look sick or nothin’, but it’s quick sometimes. Death can sneak up on the best of us.”

“He was the best.”

There’s a deep wound in Artemus’ chest now, raw and ragged and aching. It was never supposed to be like this. Never. Jim and Artemus were supposed to live to old age, to grow into crotchety old men who train new agents. They were supposed to live together in an old farmhouse on a sizable ranch so Jim could have a whole herd of horses and Artemus a garden full of flowers and herbs. They were supposed to travel the world. There’s so much they were supposed to do. _And now he’s gone._

Artemus can’t stop the sobs now. He allows himself his grief, and Miss Stuart allows him to have it. She holds his hand, says nothing. Tears stream down his face. Sobs rip from his throat. He’s already so tired: from travel, from worry, from fear. Exhaustion drags him deeper into despair. He isn’t sure how long he cries for, only that he’s bone weary when he stops. Miss Stuart squeezes his hand again, lets go, rises to her feet. She returns a few minutes later with a cup of hot tea.

“Thank you, Miss Stuart,” he mumbles.

“Just call me Mercy, Mr. Gordon,” she replies, “You just drink that and you’ll feel better in a bit. Also, if you’ve got nowhere else to stay, Aphrah and I have a spare room you’re welcome to stay in as long as ya need.”

“Thank you. I greatly appreciate it, Mercy… and please, call me Artemus.”

The tea is perfect, exactly the way Artemus would make it for himself. _I wonder how she did that…_ It warms that new cold spot deep inside him, stops the awful throbbing pain for a brief moment. He finally has the strength to ask, “Do you know who brought him? Did they give you their names?”

“No names. They were an odd ‘lil group, that’s for certain. One was a lady, real pretty, dark hair and a nice voice. One was a real tall fella… probably up near seven foot. Fella who did all the talkin’ was-“

“Very short,” Artemus finishes for her, “It was Dr. Loveless, damn him!”

He jumps to his feet, paces the small sitting room.

“I take it you know ‘em, then.”

“Too well. That little madman has tried to kill me and Jim more times than I can count… seems he finally succeeded. Goddammit!”

“What’s goin’ on here?”

The man in the doorway is handsome and muscular, clean-shaven… perhaps a bit feminine-looking. _You’ve known all kinds, Artemus, old boy. This is nothing new._ Mercy steps up, placates him, says, “Love, this is Artemus Gordon. He was close with that fella we buried yesterday. Artemus, this is my partner and husband, Aphrah Myles.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Myles. Tell me, do you know anything about the three people who brought my partner to you? Where they’re staying, if they left town, anything?”

“Don’t believe they’re still in town… ‘course I can’t say for sure. We don’t go into town all that much. All they said to us was they were a sorta circus act and the fella West was their sharpshooter. Called themselves, uh… Lito’s Traveling Circus. Had a big wagon they came in.”

“Yeah, I forgot that. They were an odd sort. Brought their own coffin. Guess it was part of their act somehow.”

“Please, I need to know where they went. Any clues could help,” Artemus begs.

Mercy says, “Aphrah, love, you saw them leave. Did they head for town?”

“Reckon they did. Only way back to the main road,” he replies.

“Then I’ll head back to town to find them. Thank you both so much. I’ll never be able to repay your kindness,” Artemus says.

“You’ll find a way,” Mercy tells him, “Just be careful, Artemus.”

He mounts his horse and spurs it toward town, desperate to find any answers that would lead him to Jim.

xXxXx

Thankfully for Artemus, money talks. He only has to grease a few palms before he discovers what he needs to know. Loveless isn’t stupid, of course. He’ll be expecting Artemus at any moment. _I would usually try to sneak in with some disguise._ Loveless is sure to expect that, though. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s able to think like Loveless. Artemus is usually the coolheaded partner, takes his time, doesn’t go rushing into a situation. _So that’s what I’ll do, rush in._ He’ll still need a plan, of course. He needs to attack this the right way.

Voltaire is going to be the biggest challenge, and he’ll need to be incapacitated before Artemus can do anything. A powerful sedative ought to do the trick there. That leaves Antoinette and Loveless himself. _Perhaps I can play them off each other._ Antoinette and Loveless have always seemed strangely close, so it’s worth a shot. Artemus gets everything he needs from the train and sets back out for the town. _Vengeance is mine, thus sayeth the Lord._ The pain is still throbbing in his chest, but he forces it away for the time being. Such emotion will only make him stupid. He cannot afford stupid just now… nor can he afford to be as tired as he is. He had hoped the desire for revenge would keep him going, but that now doesn’t seem to be the case. _A short nap… that’s all I need._ How he can be thinking of sleep at a time like this is beyond him.

Exhaustion pulls at him, though, like a child urging its parent through a market. He must give his weary body some rest. He stops in the town, simply goes to the stable. Comfort isn’t his chief concern at the moment. He and the poor horse just need some rest. The sun is barely down as Artemus beds himself down in some hay, the stable boy offering to care for the horse. Grief, bone-weary exhaustion, and a little herd of horse make for strange bedfellows, but he quickly falls asleep.

Artemus jolts awake, a whip-loud crack of thunder breaking the night. He’s outside, on a wide and windswept plain, barefoot and in his shirtsleeves. Rain whips through the air with powerful gusts of wind, soaking him to the skin. The grass is slick and wet under his feet.

“Artie!”

_That’s his voice!_ He calls back, “Jim? Jim! Where are you?”

“Artie! Help me, Artie!”

Turning frantically, Artemus comes face to face with a young woman, yelps, jumps back.

“Mer- Mercy? What are you doing here?”

She seems perfectly unaffected by the raging tempest, almost like a ghost.

“I am here because you need me here, Artemus.”

“How?”

“I’m a witch… of sorts. I was born with a gift, to be able to help people through their dreams, but I can never remember any of it when I wake,” Mercy tells him simply, “I’m only here as a guide. Look there.”

She raises her arm, pointing off into the distance, and Artemus follows her hand. Three trees stand lonely on the plain. The one at the left is tall and sturdy, towering far over the other two. The one at the right is lovely, blossoms still clinging to its shivering branches, its limbs shapely. The tree in the middle is barely a tree at all. It’s more of an ugly and misshapen shrub, nowhere near the height of the other two.

Lightning flashes painfully bright, almost blinding, immediately accompanied by deafening thunder. The tallest tree splinters, the lightning shattering its limbs and trunk. Artemus jerks back, startled, afraid. Mercy doesn’t even blink.

“Lightning is single-minded,” she tells him, “It wants only one thing, to reach the ground, and it will do anything to reach that goal. Anything in its path is destroyed without mercy, without thought. The goal is all that matters. What is your goal, Artemus?”

“To find out what happened to Jim,” he replies effortlessly, “to avenge him.”

Lightning next shatters the lovely tree, blossoms scattering everywhere, blowing in Artemus’ face. Over the thunder and the whipping wind, he hears Jim’s voice once more, calling out and begging for help… begging for Artemus. His chest aches. He misses Jim. He wants him back. _Impossible. He’s dead._

“You love him.”

“Fiercely.”

“Does he know?”

“Yes. He loves me in the same way.”

“You will find what you seek, Artemus,” she tells him, “but you must be as the lightning. You must be swift and merciless and single-minded. Can you do that?”

He can feel the electricity crackling in the air, can feel his hairs standing on end, can feel sparks dancing over his skin. The clouds flash over the remaining tree.

“Yes.”

The little misshapen tree explodes, the lightning strike so powerful it obliterates it. Back in the barn, Artemus jolts awake with a shout, a few horses whinnying nervously. His chest heaves, his breath coming in gasps. _That dream was so vivid, so real._ He has to check himself to be sure he’s dressed as he was when he bedded down, is surprised to find he is. His exhaustion is completely gone. It’s been replaced with a single goal.

_Find Voltaire, Antoinette, and Loveless… and make them pay._

xXxXx

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. Whosoever did this to him is cruel, the cruelest, a monster. He tries to remain calm. _I’ve been here for so long._ At first, he thought perhaps he was in the process of dying and his mind was simply slowing down time, but he now suspects something far worse. Jim’s not only been buried alive. He’s being kept alive. Air is somehow being pumped in to him, but nothing else. There’s no light, no sound. Worse, his bladder is heavy and full with no way to relieve it except pissing himself.

He remains as still as possible, resisting the strong urge to fight and try to claw his way out through wood and earth. _Please, Artie… please find me._ He allows a few tears to fall. _Please, Artemus..._

xXxXx

Voltaire stalks the grounds outside the abandoned house. It’s sizable, was once a fine home, but the marshal said the family that lived there before all died of diphtheria some years ago. Artemus levels his gun at the giant and pulls the trigger. The dart hits its mark, embedding itself in Voltaire’s neck. Artemus steps from the shadows before he passes out all the way.

“There’s enough tranquilizer in that dart to drop an elephant, my man,” Artemus tells him, “and you’ll have one hell of a headache when you wake up.”

Once he’s all the way out, Artemus makes his way into the building. He can hear the remaining two targets in the parlor, playing an out of tune piano and singing gaily. Rage boils in his chest, a fire he must quickly extinguish. It will only blind him. He needs to be clearheaded. He levels the dart gun again, this time taking aim at Antoinette. Again, the dart hits its mark. Her mouth opens in a wordless cry before she slumps to the floor.

Loveless looks frightened, genuinely frightened, calls out, “Who is that? Who’s there?”

“You weren’t expecting me, doctor?” Artemus says, stepping into the light, “I’m wounded.”

“Mr. Gordon… I admit I wasn’t expecting you at this late hour… or so dramatically.”

“When you take something valuable from me, I tend to get that way. I’m here for answers, and if I do not get them, I will settle for revenge,” he puts away the dart gun and retrieves his revolver, “Right about now, I’ve got no qualms about using violence to get me what I want.”

“You wouldn’t harm an unarmed man, would you, Mr. Gordon?”

“You’re hardly unarmed. That devious mind of yours is certainly a weapon. Now then, are you going to tell me what I want to know, or am I going to need to ask more forcefully?”

He cocks the revolver. Loveless eyes it warily. Artemus points it at Antoinette’s unconscious form.

“What are you doing?” Loveless cries, “That would be murder!”

“Is it? I believe it’s called execution when the person is a murderer. As far as I’m concerned, all three of you are murderers. You murdered Jim. As a lawman, I am authorized to execute murderers. Voltaire is already down.”

Loveless’ eyes go wide.

“You-… You killed Voltaire?”

Artemus replies coldly, “Tell me what you did to Jim, doctor. Quickly.”

“We took him to an undertaker’s, a- a nice young woman and-“

“I know where you took him. What did you do to him?”

Loveless’ eyes flicker to Antoinette, and he says, “You must promise that-“

“I am not making any promises to you. You are a liar and a thief and a murderer, and if you continue to refuse me, I will shoot Miss Antoinette and feel very little guilt, doctor. Now… tell me what you did to Jim. Now!”

He bellows the last word, his voice echoing through the parlor, making Loveless flinch. Then, Loveless makes a mistake.

“Mr. Gordon… I think you’re bluffing.”

Artemus clucks his tongue, says, “Shame,” and pulls the trigger. Loveless need not know the ‘bullet’ is just a hollow pellet filled with some fake blood that’s been fitted into a blank. He fixes a cold stare on Loveless, feels savage joy at his horror.

“Tell me how you killed Jim.”

“We- We didn’t-“

“Don’t lie to me! You buried him!”

“It’s true we buried him, but we didn’t kill him!” Loveless replies.

“Then what happened? The undertaker said there wasn’t a mark on him and he was in perfect health. He didn’t drop dead. You didn’t bury him out of the kindness of your heart.”

“Well, you see, Mr. Gordon… he wasn’t dead when we buried him.”

Artemus fights to maintain his composure. _You’re an actor, old boy. Act._

“Continue.”

“I gave him a powerful sedative, one that mimics death so well the undertaker didn’t even notice. I’d had a coffin specially made where you can add a pipe through a small hole so that air can get in and he can continue to breathe. Please, Mr. Gordon, don’t-“

“You have no say in what I do, doctor,” Artemus growls, snatching up the little man, “If I decide to let you live, just know that if you ever try to harm another hair on Jim West’s head again, I will kill you with no hesitation, do I make myself clear?”

Loveless nods furiously and Artemus drops him to the floor, not caring if he’s injured. He then shoots him with a paint bullet. Loveless grunts in pain, looks confused. Artemus relishes the look before viciously pistol-whipping him.

“I’m coming for you, Jim,” he murmurs.

Artemus races out of the house and spurs his horse back to town.

xXxXx

His self-control is slipping. He wants to claw, to cry, to scream, to finally die and be free of this too small prison. He wants Artie. _I never got to say good-bye._ He’d gotten word of a lead on their case and hurried out, leaving only a short note for Artie saying he’d be back soon and not to worry. _Now look at me._ A few tears slip out, but he can’t waste the water. He’s already had to loose his bladder, the stench of urine thick in the confined space.

A sob passes his lips. _Artie, where are you? I need you._

“Artie, I need you,” he whines to the dark.

His arms twitch at his sides. He wants to fight.

xXxXx

Artemus makes only one stop in the town, telling the marshal to go pick up Loveless and his crew for attempted murder. He pushes the horse through the town, to the outskirts, jumps off as soon as he stops.

“Mercy!” he calls, pounding on the door, “Mercy! Aphrah! It’s Artemus! Please, I need your help! Mercy!”

The door swings open, Mercy and Aphrah looking very ruffled. Artemus doesn’t give them time to speak, desperately tells them, “Jim was buried alive! You have to help me dig him up!”

“He’s been down there too long-“

“Loveless concocted something, a- a way to place a breathing tube to keep him alive- look, please, just help me dig him up. I’ll pay you whatever you want. I’m begging you.”

A short moment passes, and the couple agrees. Aphrah comes first, pulling on trousers and boots and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

“It should be easy enough diggin’ since it’s fresh,” Aphrah says, picks up a shovel, hands another to Artemus, “Should only take about four hours when Mercy joins in.”

“Four hours? But Aphrah-“

“Diggin’ ain’t like pickin’ daisies, Mr. Gordon. Takes time. If you wanna save your partner, ya better get to diggin’ soon,” he replies simply.

The two of them have already started by the time Mercy comes out, also in trousers, boots, and shirtsleeves, her blonde hair hastily tied back. After the first hour, they locate a glass pipe, the one used to keep Jim breathing. Judging by its location, it’s positioned at one end of the coffin, probably the foot knowing Loveless. _That way Jim wouldn’t be able to locate it._ They’re careful to avoid it. _We’re coming, Jim. I’m coming._

xXxXx

His fingers hurt. He’s sure they’re bleeding. The need to try and claw his way out had become too strong. His screams echoed in the confined space, a deafening roar that left his ears ringing. He clawed so desperately at the lid, his fingernails scraping hard against the wood. Tears burned in his eyes. The screams left his throat raw.

He’s breathless now, breathing hard with bleeding fingers and a sore throat, all his energy spent. _Where is the air coming from? How am I still alive? Why… Why can’t I just die…_ He chokes down a sob, forcing back fresh tears.

“Artie…” he whispers aloud, “Artie, please… where are you?”

xXxXx

Even with three people, it’s hard work. It’s been nearly three hours and they’re three-quarters of the way there according to Aphrah. They’re all covered in dust and dirt and sweat. All of Artemus’ muscles are screaming for rest. His mouth is dry. He’s shaking for want of water. _But I can’t stop. Jim is still down there._ His movements are mechanical. Only when Mercy tells him to rest does he manage to climb out of the hole and drink a canteen of water. He refills, takes a few more sips, returns to digging.

_I need to get to Jim._ Artemus blocks out the pain and weariness and thirst and hunger. They’re not important. Artemus’ discomfort is not important. _I need to get to Jim._ The three of them work in tandem, moving in perfect rhythm, carefully avoiding the delicate tube giving Jim air. _I need to get to him… and I need him to be alive._ It might be a prayer, though Artemus has no idea who he might be praying to.

There’s a harsh sound, the scraping of metal on wood. For a moment, the three look at each other. Then they dig more furiously. Joy surges through Artemus, joy and hope.

xXxXx

The sound is loud, the first sound Jim has heard that he hasn’t made. Joy surges through his body, joy and hope. It’s the sound of metal on wood. _Artie…_ He hears that beautiful voice, one he never thought to hear again, calling, “Jim? Jim, can you hear me?”

He sounds frantic, desperate, frightened. Jim yells back, “Yes, Artie! Artie! Please, Artie, get me out!” and pounds on the lid.

xXxXx

Artemus almost sobs with relief. He abandons his shovel and begins moving the earth with his bare hands. _Jim is alive!_ He throws it aside hurriedly, the joy surging back when his own fingers hit wood. His hands skitter over the lid, find the seam, try to pry the lid off, fail. Mercy and Aphrah step in beside him to help. There’s a series of sharp cracks as the lid pulls free of the nails. There’s a quiet tinkling of shattering glass as the tube breaks.

Jim’s eyes slam shut against the bright sun, but Artemus doesn’t care. He scrambles to pull Jim into his arms, rejoices when Jim hugs him back. Only now does Artemus cry, with Jim alive in his arms, his face buried in Jim’s neck, his fingers clutching at Jim’s strong back. He lets the tears stream down his cheeks before pulling away. Jim’s pale eyes slowly blink open, fixing on Artemus, his lip wobbling. Artemus lunges forward and lays kisses over every part of Jim’s face, kisses his nose and forehead and cheeks and lips and eyelids, everything he can, murmurs, “James, my dearest James,” over and over as he does so.

They’re still sitting in the grave, both crying, both so happy to have each other back. They don’t want to move yet. _He’s alive… he’s here with me._

“I knew you’d come,” Jim whispers, “I knew you’d save me, Artie.”

“I thought you were dead… Jim, I thought you were dead-“

Jim shushes him gently, kisses him, embraces him. Fresh tears roll down his cheeks. Mercy quietly suggests they leave the grave for somewhere more comfortable, Aphrah helping them out one at a time. Jim stands on shaky legs.

“Come inside,” Mercy tells them.

Artemus and Aphrah support Jim as they walk in, and Mercy continues, “Mr. West needs a hot meal, a warm bath, and a clean set of clothes. You just let me whip up a quick meal and then I’ll prepare a bath-“

“Please, miss, that isn’t necessary.”

“I know, but I’d like to take care of the living for once. You just rest now.”

She rests a gentle hand on his cheek and then moves into the kitchen. In record time, she brings out toast, eggs, and bacon, each plate perfect. _She’s the best witch I’ve ever met._ Artemus and Jim both eat ravenously, Aphrah only slightly more polite with his food.

“The bath is ready whenever you are, Mr. West,” Mercy says, “I believe Aphrah and I need to head into town for a few things, so you’ll have some privacy for a couple hours.”

“We really don’t know how to thank you,” Artemus replies.

She smiles, “I’m sure you’ll think of something, Artemus. Aphrah, love, let’s go.”

A gentle kiss, and the couple leaves. Artemus helps Jim into the washroom, carefully stripping him of his soiled clothes, treating him reverently.

“Artie, join me,” Jim murmurs as he’s settled into the tub, “There’s room enough for both of us, and-… I… I just-“

“Hush, James, I understand… I need you, too.”

Artemus undresses and climbs into the bath with Jim, settling in behind him and holding him close. One of his hands settles over Jim’s heart. He drops gentle kisses over Jim’s shoulders and the back of his neck and the line of his jaw.

“God, how I love you, James,” he whispers against bronzed skin, “I love you so much that it hurts, so much that I don’t know how I lived without you before now.”

“I’ve never felt so happy as I do when I’m with you. I feel like we can do anything, Artie… even fly.”

“Maybe one day we will,” Artemus laughs.

Jim drops his head back onto Artemus’ shoulder, and their lips meet in a slow and gentle kiss. It’s full of love and passion and happiness. Artemus revels in it, in all of it: the warmth of Jim’s mouth, the lingering taste of coffee, the slow slide of their tongues, the feeling of Jim’s heartbeat under his hand.

“Artemus, I love you,” Jim breathes against his lips.

Artemus just kisses him again. _Better to show than to tell…_


End file.
